Vulnerable
by I-am-the-survivor
Summary: Sherlock has known for a while that his soulmate is Watson. She's known for a while as well. They never mention it. It all changes, however, when she's attacked in their own home


**Just a short little soulmates oneshot to get rid of creative energy after that finale. Oof. I'm still reeling so I punched this one out in about an hour. It centers around being an empath towards your soulmate. Naturally, joanlock cause lord knows I can't write anything else these days.**

 **I'm still kinda lost on what to write after finishing my latest two fics. Beautiful and Whatever It Takes have both come to a close so I am now open to taking requests. I just need to keep my energy flowing rather than falling into the hiatus head first. I've also got a 5+1 thing gearing up to be written I just need to hammer out the kinks. Here's this for now, enjoy!**

 **WARNING: Does include spoilers for the Elementary season finale.**

Sherlock hangs up the phone with a small smile on his face. Though they've yet to defeat Michael he can feel they're growing closer. They've taken down the judge standing in their way of getting a warrant now they only need to connect the pieces. He'll slip soon enough, he's sure of it.

As he walks, the bag of takeout bounces gently against Sherlock's leg. His mind wanders to Watson herself. The bond between them, though unspoken, is undoubtedly known by the both of them. It has been for a while.

In their world the phenomenon of soulmates is a rare thing. There's simply too numerous a population to find the person deemed to be your true partner in life. For most the action of finding that one person amongst seven billion is far too daunting to ever be plagued by the thoughts. Long ago there'd been moments he ached. His chest felt tight, emotions far too piercing when he's simply going about his day. He'd imagined in moments long ago that it'd been Irene. Yet when he felt nothing when she'd 'died' it'd destroyed him. For months he'd been haunted by the doubts of her death. For her to show up months later, more than alive. It was like a punch to the gut.

However by that time he had already known his soulmate was never Irene. For a while he'd suspected that Watson was, indeed, his soulmate. Her emotions would bleed into his often, especially on anniversaries. On the anniversary of her patient's death, however, is when he truly began suspecting. He'd denied it for a long time even when he threw a tennis ball directly between her shoulder blades and the pain radiated through his own back. His findings only grew stronger when Andrew perished. For days on end vial guilt flooded his chest and clouded his mind. Yet his true confirmation never came until her 'battle' with Detective Cortez. The bruise that blossomed against her eye throbbed at his own skin. At that point pressing his remedy against her skin, feeling his own soak in that moment of relief. He knew he could no longer deny it.

Watson, on the other hand, knew for much longer than he. He's no stranger to peril, that he knows. The fact that he has caused her so much significant pain hurts him. He felt her sympathy for the shots he'd taken by Moriarty's henchman as she stitched him up. He felt her hesitation as she reset his dislocated shoulder. He felt and saw how his overwhelming disappointment with himself swallowed her after he relapsed. Yet she stayed. Through the pain of the concussion and struggle with recovery she stayed.

He's just twenty minutes away from their home when a sharp pain strikes across his temple. Panic surges through his body and he's not entirely sure if it's his or Joan's. Her name leaves his throat in a whisper and in the next moment pain spreads across his ribcage forcing him to drop the food onto the sidewalk.

He runs through the streets without a thought. As fast as his feet can carry himself he runs to the Brownstone. His heart nearly stops as he takes in a blood trail leading directly to his door, standing wide open. He approaches slowly not wishing to alert whoever may still be in the home. His heart beats widely in his chest up until the moment he steps inside. A hand grabs his leg and he sees a flash of a weapon being turned to him from below. He catches the other hand mid-swing and disarms, what he'll later recognize as a helicopter rotor from the hand of his attacker.

Watson sits by the open door, eyes recognizing him now not as an attacker but as her partner. Just as he suspected the area on her temple is already turning a deep purple. Her now free hand grips her abdomen as it cries out against her sudden movements. "Sherlock." She whispers. He ignores his sympathetic ache dropping to her side in an instant surveying her for potentially mortal wounds.

"There's blood outside." He says frantically surveying her. "I thought-"

"His. Michael's." She explains cutting him off. "He attacked me after we got off the phone. He wanted to kill me." Their combined fear renders them both incredibly vulnerable when they're usually so guarded. He'll never mention it to anyone but he sees a stray tear run down Watson's cheek. It'd been so long since she came so close to death. He'd naively hoped that he could protect her from such a fate.

He calls an ambulance while sitting by her side, gripping her hand to ground her to reality. Her head rests on his shoulder as her breath comes out unevenly. He can feel the pang rush through her with every breath she takes. Her other hand still finds purchase on the rotor she'd attacked Michael with. Even in an addled states she's looking to protect the two of them in the vulnerable state they're in.

He rattles onto her to keep her awake until the ambulance arrives. He played too closely with a concussion and won't risk Watson doing the same. They take her away from him far too soon. Even though he climbs into Marcus's car to follow the ambulance the weight of his hand without hers feels foreign.

When he finds himself by her side once more he grips onto her. Relief floods the two of them and he's not sure who it originated from. Yet the peace brought forth by the other's presence is enough to soothe the both of them for now.

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"How long have you known?" The question comes unannounced months later. They've long since moved from New York starting a new life in London. She continued looking into adoption processes. She's finally on her last steps towards her goal of motherhood. She even has a name for the little boy when he finally arrives. They've both healed from the near loss of their partnership. They still ache from Gregson's betrayal but they understand it nonetheless. Neither of them denies the thought of killing Michael themselves crossing their minds.

"How long have I known?" He parrots back to her.

"That we're soulmates." She hums placing lettuce inside of Clyde's tank for him to eat. He watches as she gently strokes his shell before returning to her organizing of her new place.

"How long have you known?"

"Uh huh," She shakes her head narrowing her eyes at him. "I asked first."

Her eyes challenge his for a few seconds before he finally yields. "I knew for a while but I always denied it. I accepted it after your legendary fight with Detective Cortez." She rolls her eyes but he can see her lips struggling not to betray her underlying amusement. "Your turn."

"Since we found Moriarty… Irene." He nods expectantly. He'd suspected later when he'd been shot but of course she knew since then. She's far smarter than he ever gives her enough credit for. "What do we do about it?" She asks.

"Whatever you like." He smiles despite himself. Years ago he'd never had predicted this woman making such an impact on his life. Now he can't imagine life without her by his side.

"An experiment." She proposes tentatively. "We'll see where it takes us." Her eyes flash to his again seeking his permission. He can feel the waves of nervous energy hidden by her otherwise unbothered appearance.

"As you wish Watson."


End file.
